Rev.Speats'Blog Cabin

Takin’ Care of Business in The King’s Court

Hot damn tamale!! I’ve wanted to post this for three weeks so with a fistful of better-late-than-never I give you:

Graceland...Memphis, Tennessee – Saturday, January 13, 2007

Some of the earliest musical memories I have were listening to my mom’s well-worn 45s of “Heartbreak Hotel”, “Hound Dog” (bw “Don’t Be Cruel”), “Love Me Tender”, & “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You”. Elvis Presley’s music is as much a staple of my general well being as a corned beef sandwich from Langers (L.A. finest Jewish delicatessen), so it was with a great deal of reverence and emotion that I made my pilgrimage to Graceland three weeks ago.

Traveling alone I was able to take my time and soak up the reality (or surreality) of my surroundings. The Grounds. The Jungle Room. The Kitchen….After years of collecting and obsessing all things Presley (an old Elvis Zippo lighter comes to mind), I was finally there. In Memphis. At Graceland.

Without thinking twice, I opted for the V.I.P. tour that allowed me the maximum experience…who knows when I may get back there, you know?

Coming up the driveway and going thru those wrought iron gates I only knew from multiple viewings of “This Is Elvis” (still the best documentary film on the man to date) and beginning my tour I knew that I had reached Mecca.

What I took away immediately was how my experience humanized Elvis. After all, this was the man’s home…this is where he lived! So much of Elvis is now reduced to a general caricature that we tend to forget he was a human being like the rest of us, flawed and brilliant all at once.

First off, the living room, dining room, and kitchen…kept exactly as Elvis last saw it. If you ever wanted to bear witness to a living 1970’s time capsule (at its most excessive), Graceland is THE destination. As a connoisseur of ‘70s kitsch I damn near had to call the local hospital to remove the smile from my face. The long white couch…the blue shag carpeting…the three RCA color console television sets placed side by side…exactly as I had imagined it so many times before.

Then it was on to the kitchen…preserved perfectly in those predominant ‘70s hues of orange and brown…I was half-way expecting David Cassidy and The Partridge Family to come trouncing through at any moment. From the kitchen it was on to the Billiard Room, which was adorned in the most extreme pleated cotton I’d ever laid eyes on. The pool table itself proudly boasted a tear in the felt (left as is for the sake of authenticity).

Next stop (through a stair case of green-colored shag carpeting), The Jungle Room. Yes indeed it is the King’s own Enchanted Tiki Room (reflective of the Polynesian craze of the ‘60s and ‘70s) but it’s also where Presley recorded such late-period classics as “Moody Blue”, “Way Down”, & For the Heart”. I think I spotted that crazy totem poll Vincent Price had heart-to-hearts with when the Brady Bunch went to Hawaii in there. Brilliant.

From there it was on to the King’s personal effects…his fake fur bed…the tux he wore on his wedding day…his then state-of-the-art mobile phone (housed in a TBC brief case of course)…badges…firearms…OH MY!! On to the Hall of Gold Records. This is where I turned my internal Geek-O-Meter up to 11. I studied each and every gold record meticulously (who knew the Clambake soundtrack did so well abroad?)…fascinating.

After 45 minutes of pouring over the King’s gold it was on more display cases. Even more gold records. The ’68 Comeback Special black leather jump suit. The Aloha from Hawaii sequined jump suit. Cancelled royalty checks…then on to Vernon Presley’s office, and lastly the racquet ball court (which was the last edition to Graceland Elvis added before his passing). Though as intriguing as the period-era quadraphonic stereo gear was in the racquet ball court/wet bar was, the real curio was the upright piano to the left of the stereo…apparently this is where Elvis sang last…(the song was the country classic “Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain”).

Exiting the racquet ball court I made my way to the Meditation Garden and the King’s grave. Elvis, his parents, and grandmother are buried there. Beautifully adorned with flowers, stuffed teddy bears, and various other fan-made memorials, this is the most peaceful and poignant part of the tour. I stood there for a while in silent respect and made my way back down the hill to Graceland plaza across the street.

The Lisa Marie is Elvis’s private jet and an essential part of the Graceland experience. Prior to becoming the King’s flying palace it was a Delta Airlines 96-passenger plane…nearly a million dollars of renovations made it Elvis’s own. From the gold-plated seat-belt buckles to the Pioneer 8-track multi-speaker sound system to the glass TBC-monogrammed conference table and full size bedroom to the wet bar still stocked with 30+year-old unopened Gatorade and Mountain Valley Spring Water…this makes your average commercial plane look a cross-country Greyhound bus just after a summertime jaunt to Fresno. Incredible.

The Automobile Museum boasts several of the King’s vintage rides…the 1956 pink Cadillac he gave his mother right after his career first took off. His ’62 Lincoln Continental. The 1973 Stutz Blackhawk... (Pure pimpin’ goodness). The ’75 Ferrari Dino. This is a man who lived the golden age of the American automobile and has the vehicles to prove it. The original Monster Garage.

The final exhibit of the day was Elvis After Dark… a slight but intriguing glimpse into the King’s after hours. The highlight being of course, an actual television shot out by Elvis himself and the gun that took care of that particular business. I contemplated how many plasma screens would've met an early death had Elvis lived...in the age of satellite TV, I imagine plenty. I also imagine the King would've been a devotee of Cops but I digress.

From there it was gift shopping gone wild…I got my little boy two Elvis onesies, a cookbook for Mrs.Speats, a DVD of Aloha from Hawaii and a hunka hunka burnin’ memories of one of the most fascinating destinations in these here United States. For at least an afternoon there and then in Memphis, it was as if (at least for me) Elvis never left the building.

My pledge to The Blog Cabin:

New Years Resolutely I pledge to update this thang more often than I did in '06...a lofty goal higher than the national debt but by golly I'll damn near try. I just have to convince myself that not every entry has to be a Lester Bangsish masterwork...writing daily will suffice and if inspiration strikes to scribe something a bit more fanciful, so be it.

So far my impressions of '07 are as such: I'm more aware of birthday #35 than ever before (probably because its less than a month away), I still think 40 year-old Rolling Stones records still beat the crap out of what passes for British Rock these days...."Rocky Balboa" is no mere guilty pleasure...(I'm rambling here)...and that impending fatherhood is about to rock my world. Yep. I'm gonna be a dad! I was loath to talk about my personal life here but as the little guy is gonna reshape and repurpose my life in many ways I thought it time to make the big reveal.Anyway thanks for the patience in between posts and I vow to drop by more often.

Cheers and A Happy '07 To All,
The Reverend.

Back with a KISS!

Nearly thirty years ago and barely out of pre-school I was all about KISS, I had the lunchbox, the dolls, and of course the music. Long after the collectibles went the way of my hairline, the music remained. It’s never been easy to be a KISS fan – we’re the Rodney Dangerfields, we (like the band) get no respect….but KISS never were about respect or approval from the Lester Bangs and David Frickes of the world. Contrary to long-held Rock Snobbery Beliefs, their songbook runs circles around period contemporaries The New York Dolls. They were our Superheroes. They played guitars, breathed fire, and were (are) larger than life. They looked cool. They wore their British Invasion influences proudly…Gene. Paul. Ace. Peter. For millions of us they were our John, Paul, George, and Ringo. The fans always came first (and still do). Yes they are overly-marketed and Gene Simmons will put KISS’s name on anything that doesn’t move these days, but as I said before, the music remains. Their live show (often imitated but never topped) remains the standard-bearer for Heavy Metal spectacle.

Nearly thirty years later after I first lept off my bed and air-guitared my way thru “Detroit Rock City”, I stood proudly last night amongst my fellow KISS army members and watched Paul Stanley rock the House of Blues in Hollywood and couldn’t stop thinking how fucking cool it is to be a fan of this band and marveled at the journey thus far. I guess in this particular army, you could call me a lifer. And you gotta respect that.

Being in the business I'm in you tend to run into people like this man here at random Jazz festivals and on a lucky day you just might recieve a package of self-produced CDs from said celebrity seeking a deal...this happened to me yesterday.